


How Scared I Was

by fotoshop_cutout



Series: The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fotoshop_cutout/pseuds/fotoshop_cutout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski in which the Hale House is haunted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We've Been Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> Set four months after "The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski".

Dangling upside down, the view of the tunnels was a little eerie. To top it all off, Derek had left him literally hanging, saying that it was the contractor on the phone—it was important, so he had to take it. He was fucking _naked_ and dangling from the ceiling in the tunnels below the old Hale house and Derek had ditched him for a phone call. Stiles would have been scrubbing a hand through his hair if he could have reached, but he was a little tied up at the moment. He tugged at the hemp ropes, knowing that he could snap them and be free very easily, but also realizing that if he did something like that Derek would be pissed and tie them quite a bit tighter the next time around. So he arched his back to gain a more comfortable position, his shifting causing the ropes to twist and turn him so he faced the other tunnel. The dark end—the one that chilled him to the bone and made him _thisclose_ to pissing himself. He blew out a lungful of air and waited.

After what felt like forever, but was likely just a couple of minutes, Stiles heard footsteps behind him. As usual, he was mouthy. “Fina-fucking-ly! It's cold and I think all the blood has left my dick and gone to my head.”

The ropes twisted him around a bit, but he couldn't see Derek still. A cold hand rested on his thigh as if in answer to what he'd been saying. He stopped turning in mid-air. Derek still didn't say anything. “Your hand is fucking cold too! It's totally not helping the mood.”

A few moments and his hand kept being almost shockingly cold. “Are you gonna talk to me, or are you just going to give me the silent treatment? 'Cause I swear to fucking Christ if you're just going to stare and be creepy, I'm done. Let me down, seriously.”

“Who are you talking to?” Derek's voice came from far off behind him. The cold hand was suddenly gone and Stiles was performing as a whirligig as he was suddenly spun to face where Derek was coming down the lit tunnel. Stiles felt bile creeping up his throat as he started gibbering. It must have been something about the way he looked or the way he felt because Derek cut him down with his claws and had him bundled against his chest in the span of a heartbeat.

{ _break_ }

After four months of being together Stiles had gotten quite used to waking up to Derek's disheveled hair every morning. Or, nearly every morning. He still spent school nights at his house with his Dad, and occasionally he had movie marathon night with Scott where they'd be up until the ass crack of dawn watching bad B movies or re-watching favorites (The Notebook made the cut just to annoy Jackson on one of the nights when he was there too, Lydia was overjoyed and rushed over to be a part of it). Still, Derek was usually in his bed when he slept at his own house, and the nights in between when he was nestled under the covers at Derek's rented place, he woke to Derek's dog breath. Okay, so it wasn't really dog breath—more morning breath than anything. He just liked to tease his boyfriend about being a werewolf.

Today was no exception; Stiles yawned as he sat up, the light from behind the curtains was that of the sun just starting to peek over the horizon. He'd slept longer than usual. He rolled his shoulders and glanced at Derek who had abandoned his pillow in favor of sharing Stiles' and was currently drooling on it. Stiles let him. He was up and scratching his stomach, wandering out to the kitchen in a pair of boxers (the one time he'd wandered out in the nude Scott and Allison had been out there, waiting to take him out for a movie at midday on a Saturday, he'd never wandered around the house in the nude again). He rooted around the fridge, sniffing at everything before deciding whether or not he wanted to eat it for breakfast, and then set about making it.

It was Thanksgiving vacation week and Stiles knew that he'd be spending every day trying to convince Derek to come to his family Thanksgiving (which he was thinking would be nigh impossible). Luckily he wouldn't have to cook at all this time around (last Thanksgiving had been a disaster of burnt turkey and chunky gravy with his Dad and he camped out in the living room), as Aunt Virginia was hosting it, but he figured that having to explain that Derek was his boyfriend to his whole family would be a bit... interesting. His Dad understood and hadn't threatened to shoot Derek even once, which was amazing in every single way, yet Stiles was sure that his cousins would put him through the ringer just knowing that he was gay. He hoped that having a kick ass boyfriend to back him up would keep them from teasing him too much, but if Derek didn't go, he'd have to explain his perennial lack of a girlfriend to his extended family somehow.

He cooked himself eggs, bacon and toast with a tall glass of orange juice to wash it all down. He had more bacon on his plate than anything else, and almost dropped a piece as he sidled over to the couch and fished around for the remote. Putting the volume as low as it would go, he watched the weather channel. Yes yes, call him a nerd, but he liked knowing what he was in for. He sat back on the couch and crunched his toast happily. As he waited for the weather channel to get around to Beacon Hills, Stiles looked around the house. He realized, then, that a lot had changed in four months.

For one, there were pictures of the pack around now. Sure, there weren't many, but they existed and that was enough to off-set the impersonal feel that the house had before. Another was how comfortable Stiles had gotten with his relationship with Derek. Had you mentioned six months ago that Stiles would be closely resembling a domestic housewife for Derek he would have laughed in your face. But now? Now all he could think about was making sure that breakfast was ready before Derek lifted his head from Stiles' drooled on pillow.

Their relationship had grown by leaps and bounds (mostly because Stiles was perpetually horny and Derek actually _did_ do it for him), both emotionally and physically. They were having sex now and had been since two months into it, and it was _so_ much better than anything Stiles had imagined. Maybe it was the two of them, but Stiles wanted to think that at least part of it was the kink. Not that he'd been the one to bring it up—actually Derek hadn't even really 'brought it up', he'd just tied Stiles up and had his way with him. Stiles quite liked it, which had led to last night: it was their first attempt at suspension rope work (Derek did the research for once), and the only place that Derek felt comfortable trying it was in the underground, creepy-ass tunnels that lay beneath his old family house. Why? Stiles couldn't answer that. Maybe because he was only renting this place and Stiles' Dad was at home so it kind of took their options away. Stiles would admit that he liked the actual suspension and the rope against his skin, but the tunnels? He was never going down there again.

In the warm sunlight it seemed ridiculous—made up even—but he knew what he'd felt, what he'd heard. It scared the piss out of him. He was actually quite proud of himself that he hadn't peed when it happened. No, instead he did something equally embarrassing: he'd freaked the fuck out and let Derek actually _carry_ him out of there. The thought of it put him off his breakfast. He set down his fork with a frown and pushed the plate away from him, eyes flicking up to catch the weather. Mostly sunny, twenty percent chance of rain. He shut the TV off.

Two hours later and he had cooked Derek breakfast and was attempting to wake him with gentle nudges. This was stage one. When Derek didn't respond, he moved to stage two: the kisses. He peppered gentle, chaste kisses over Derek's cheekbone, trying to be positive even this early in the morning. It was a work-in-progress in their relationship—they were always too quick to insult each other and Stiles had finally had enough of it, he was inflicting positive behavior on Derek to prove that they could do it. When the kisses didn't work other than to make Derek groan and shift so he was on his back, Stiles moved into dangerous territory—stage three. “Okay, I'm going to pour cold water on you if you don't get your lazy ass out of bed.”

Derek groaned again, showing his displeasure at the threat. Stiles took a step away from the bed, moving like he was going to go fetch the water. He wasn't certain he would actually carry out his threat on Derek, but he could at least pretend he was going to. Derek's hand shot out and hooked around Stiles' leg, pulling him in close and nuzzling the skin there. It was nice except that Derek had smeared drool over his leg. Stiles pulled a face and tugged his leg back in his direction. “I'm serious, Derek, I made you breakfast and you're damn well going to get up and enjoy it.”

Derek opened his eyes. That was more like it. Stiles had his hands on his hips—when had that happened? He dropped his hands to his side. He really didn't need to be any more of a wifey to Derek than he already was. Even Allison wasn't this domestic.

Sitting at the island on a stool, Derek ate his breakfast while Stiles washed the dishes. He was scraping a bit of dried food from a pan with his claw when Derek spoke up. “So that contractor fell through. Can't take on another project right now. It would be late next year before he could work on the house.”

He meant his family's house. He'd been talking about getting it fixed up and had actually called a guy about it last week. In all of the freaking out last night, Stiles hadn't heard what the call was about. He frowned and looked over his shoulder. “So what do you plan to do? Are you going to wait?”

Derek downed the last of his milk—he had something against acidic drinks going with his breakfast, so Stiles skipped over the orange juice when serving him—and shook his head. “I was thinking of starting it up myself. I know that I'll have to take a break come winter and it'll be a lot slower, but I can get some stuff done I think.”

This can-do attitude was different coming from Derek. Stiles thought maybe it was catching and he had gotten it from him. Whatever it was, Stiles liked it. He would support it fully and enthusiastically. “Okay, I'll get everyone to pitch in, then.”

Derek was silent for a long moment and Stiles wasn't sure if he'd just said something stupid or not. He couldn't figure how it would be stupid, so he just put the last of the dishes in the drainer and wiped his hands off on the towel, turning around and shrugging, trying to look casual. “Or not; if you don't want our help that's cool too.”

Derek just studied him, unsettling Stiles a little bit. “Do you think they'd want to help?”

Stiles looked away, grabbing a cup and pouring some orange juice in it, gulping down half the glass before answering. “Sure! Why not? They love you!” He paused, “Well, they love me! They'll help.”

Derek got up, bringing his dishes over to the dishwasher and leaning in, trapping Stiles against the counter and kissing him a bit forcefully, bringing Stiles' attention to him. “Don't force the issue, please. I want volunteers, not slave labor.”

Stiles smiled what he thought was a winning smile, “But slave labor is just as effective.”

{ _break_ }

Stiles had artfully dodged answering anything about last night during this morning's conversation with Derek. He'd then set out to see his Dad and drop off his lunch at the station. On the way he called Scott and left a voicemail because _apparently_ Stiles was the only one who bothered to keep in touch anymore. It had been two weeks since the last movie marathon and Stiles was sure that Jackson was getting restless. Speaking of—the ringtone blaring from his phone that sat on his lap while he drove meant that the werewolf in question was calling.

“Yyyello! What's up buddy?” He really didn't mean to be annoying, it just happened.

“I'm not your buddy.” Jackson's growly tone came through the speaker. “Lydia wants to know if you'll go shopping with her today. Apparently Allison has a family trip? Or something.”

“Uhhh... sure! But only if you guys help out Derek with fixing up the house.” Might as well sneak that in while he can, otherwise you can be sure that Jackson would get out of it.

“Didn't he hire some guy to do that? Why does he need us?” Ah, you can always count on Jackson.

“He flaked. Can't take on a new project right now or some shit like that.”

“Oh.” How eloquent, Jackson.

“Tell Scott if you see him.”

“Will do.” There was a scuffle and then Jackson took on a bored tone. “Lydia wants to know if you'll pick her up so you two can go to lunch.”

“Sure. At yours?”

“Yeah.” And just like that Jackson hung up. Stiles let out a breath through pursed lips. It was amazing that Derek hadn't kicked Jackson out of the pack yet, what with how rude he could be, but he supposed there had to be a pack jackass.

{ _break_ }

A couple of days later and Stiles had managed to round everyone up. He still hadn't talked about the incident down in the tunnels with anyone, including Derek. Every time he thought about going back there he froze up and started shivering in fear, so he was glad that he was able to avoid it up until today. It was early morning and a mist was hanging in the air, dew heavy on the grass when he drove up, tools packed in the back of his Jeep. Scott and Allison were there already, as was Derek who was sucking down a coffee like it was water. Jackson and Lydia weren't there quite yet, but he'd gotten a text from Lydia saying that they would be running late—she had demanded breakfast before going out into the cold and working on an old, decrepit house. Her words, not his.

Stiles was dragging the tools out and bringing them toward the porch; Derek met him half way and took one of the tool belts from him, looping it over his shoulder and catching the back of his neck with his free hand. He massaged Stiles there and the WerKatze leaned back into it gratefully. Derek leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek, smelling of coffee and rubbing his stubble on his skin. Stiles bumped his shoulder into his side and walked up the steps, smiling at Scott and Allison who were sharing their own coffee.

They stood around for five minutes, waiting for Jackson and Lydia, before they showed up. Lydia was wearing appropriate clothing for working on the house, which meant that Stiles was getting ten bucks from Scott based on the bet that she wouldn't. Stiles knew how smart she was, though, so he knew that she'd probably be ready for anything. Stiles snatched Derek's coffee and sipped it, letting Derek take the lead on telling everyone what to do. Once everyone had collected the tools they needed and started toward their tasks, Derek turned to him.

“You alright?” Derek was studying him.

“Why wouldn't I be?” He didn't want to talk about it. Derek let it go and went off his own way, glancing every once in a while with concern at Stiles. Stiles stayed top-side all day.


	2. Your Most Obvious Weakness

The week was filled with napping curled up next to Derek (usually with Stiles' head on his chest and Derek's arm wrapped around his in return); cleaning up the old Hale house (pulling down walls and pulling up floorboards, getting all sorts of scorched, rotting furnishings out of the house; and attempting to convince Derek that going to Thanksgiving at his Aunt's place was well worth it. In the end Stiles was well rested, the house was beginning to look better (the walls were knocked out and all the trash removed), and Derek had finally agreed that he'd go to Thanksgiving with Stiles' family.

In usual Stiles fashion, he was up before the sun was, getting showered and dressed for the full day of feasting and hanging out with his extended family (which was equal parts annoying and awesome). Derek was still snoring under the duvet, the early morning rays slanted across him as he splayed across the entirety of the bed. Stiles was grinning before he knew it, padding out to the kitchen in order to make a minimal breakfast. It was a few more hours of watching muted TV before Derek deigned to get up. He walked out only wearing a pair of dark flannel pajama pants, stretching his arms over his head and letting his muscles ripple. Stiles' eyes were glued to him, watching as he approached.

Derek sunk down onto the couch next to him and leaned in, crushing a kiss to his temple and snatching the remote from Stiles. Stiles let him, licking his lips and folding into his boyfriend's warm side. It was always so very nice to have cuddly mornings. Stiles yawned, nuzzling Derek's chest and settling in for a nap, regardless of the fact that he had only been awake for a little while. But then, he was part cat and cats usually slept the day away. He figured he'd stock up on sleep while he could, since he wouldn't be sleeping for the majority of the day. Derek put the volume up, flicking through the channels quietly. It wasn't until he decided that there wasn't anything he wanted to watch and had turned off the TV that he said anything.

“Are we taking my car or yours?” He had a very serious face on, which is how he usually looked, but he was had his index finger pressed to his eyebrow and his thumb pressed to the curve of his jaw and it made Stiles sit up straight and stop snoozing. He smacked his lips together and shrugged. Derek quirked an eyebrow up and waited.

“If we take yours I can nap on the way there and back.” Why yes, he was entirely self-serving. Derek's serious face broke into an amused half-grin. Stiles always loved when he did that. It was like the clouds clearing away and the sun coming out—infectious and made him feel warm all over. Derek ruffled his hair, which was now a good inch long, and pulled him close.

“Alright fine. My car it is. We leave at ten?” He was squeezing Stiles against him, releasing him and standing up, looking in the direction of the bedroom. Stiles nodded and straightened out his plaid over shirt.

“Yeah, it'll take about an hour to get there.”

Derek was meandering toward the room, probably intent on getting some clothes on. “Are we meeting your Dad there?”

“Yep.” Stiles was standing up as well, following into the bedroom to watch him change. He sat on the bed, one leg tucked up underneath him. They were silent for some time, Derek pulling on a white tank top and pulling a casual button down shirt out of the closet. He was struggling with the buttons when Stiles brought it up. “You're not worried?”

Derek looked up sharply, “Why would I be worried?”

Stiles shrugged helplessly. “Well, you know... meeting my family. Being my boyfriend.” Stiles looked out the window, wanting to avoid Derek's gaze. “They don't know I'm gay.”

Derek had finished buttoning the shirt and just looked at him. “What. Do you expect them to react badly?”

Stiles shrugged and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, matched the hems of his over shirt and t-shirt up and dropped them both, finally looking back up at Derek. “I don't know what to expect. I mean, Dad knows and he's supportive...”

Derek sat next to him and leaned close. “If anyone doesn't like it...” He looked pointedly in Stiles' eyes now, “Then they can try to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with their heads up their asses.”

Stiles snorted, knowing that Derek probably wanted to say something decidedly more violent, but didn't want to seem like he was threatening Stiles' family. Derek stood back up and retreated to the bathroom to finish getting ready. “Thanks, Derek.”

{ _break_ }

Stiles didn't nap in the car on the way there, his excitement about seeing everyone was like catnip. He was talking incessantly and Derek looked about ready to rip his throat out. Luckily he just turned the music up to _blasting_ for the rest of the ride. Stiles eventually got the point and shut up, watching the scenery go by.

When they pulled up to Aunt Virginia's nearly everyone else was there. The weather was nice enough that the ones not in the kitchen or helping to set the table were sitting outside, scattered on the big porch. The Camaro was easily the best car in the drive, so it had caught a lot of attention. Stiles was looking out the windshield like he was contemplating putting the car in reverse and just going home, but Derek was committed to it and already unbuckling, opening his door, and getting out. Stiles followed suit, trying to muster up some bravado in lieu of having to face his cousins. It was Johnny who called out first.

Johnny was a sophomore in College and often liked to rub his _superiority_ in Stiles' face—mostly he was an idiot who partied his way through the school year and acted like an ass full-time. Stiles loved him because he was family, but given the chance he would rather eat wet cat food than be in the same vicinity as Johnny (and he'd tried wet cat food—it was utterly disgusting). Johnny raised a hand with a beer in it and was grinning from ear to ear. “Stiiiiles! Sweet car dude!”

Stiles cast a long-suffering glance at Derek, Derek just offered his hand as he crossed in front of the Camaro. Johnny was crossing the lawn with the tag-along cousin, Markus. Markus had been following Johnny about since they were little. That generally meant another person to chip in on teasing Stiles, so he'd grown to avoid both of them like the plague. Stiles' fingers intertwined with Derek's and Johnny pulled up a little short. He didn't make any comments, but he looked at Derek, sizing him up. It was likely Derek's usual death-glare slipping into place, but it might have just been the alpha wolf presence that he gave off that made Johnny not so keen to take the mickey out of Stiles about holding hands with a guy. He just sipped his beer and gestured to the Camaro. “It's your car then?”

Derek leveled a look at him, but a slight squeeze from Stiles to remind him to not turn into the brooding monster he usually did and he answered. “Yes.”

Oh good, Derek was making such a good impression. Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Johnny seemed to be trying to get on his good side, for whatever reason (probably because Derek was fucking terrifying), so he nodded and smiled agreeably. “It's awesome!” He stuck his hand out to shake, “I'm Johnny, Stiles' cousin.”

Derek eyed his hand for a moment before Stiles stepped in and gestured to Derek, knowing that his boyfriend wasn't very good at _talking_. “This is Derek, my boyfriend.”

Markus was staying quiet behind Johnny, drinking his beer and observing. The fucker. Fortunately, they didn't have to stand there like idiots for much longer than that, Aunt Virginia hurrying out from the house and rushing across the lawn to envelope Stiles in a hug. She kissed both cheeks and fussed over him—was he still wearing the same clothes he was when he was little? Was his Dad feeding him properly? How was school going?

The whole family slowly started migrating together, Stiles getting Derek to drift closer to the porch while the aunts, uncles and cousins on it began coming out a ways to greet them. Stiles was swept into many bear hugs and given way too many kisses to make Derek comfortable, but Stiles was happy as a clam. The whole Stilinski family, it seemed, were really affectionate people. Derek had just about had his arm shaken off by the time he'd been introduced to everyone. Somewhere along the way a beer had made it's way into his hand and he'd been roped into a conversation about his car with a couple of Stiles' uncles. Before he knew it, he was relaxed and actually enjoying being part of a family.

When they all sat around for the meal they were packed together like sardines, but everyone was in good spirits. They said grace (which Derek didn't really understand, but he went along with it anyway), and began passing dishes laden with all sorts of food around. Everyone was talking all at once, a background of laughter and serious conversations alike for the meal. Stiles was talking to his Dad and one of his aunts about lacrosse when Derek put his hand on Stiles' thigh under the table. Stiles' leg jerked and banged the table, nearly toppling his drink over, silverware clinking. There were several chuckles in response to that, Derek just rolled his eyes.

Everything seemed to be going great until someone brought it up—Uncle David spoke up, eyes on Derek. “So Derek, not that we don't love your company, but how come you're not celebrating with your family?”

It was a good-natured question, and people were really very curious about him, but Stiles felt the clench in his gut immediately. Derek had stopped eating, his face serious and more closed off than it had been before; Stiles swallowed thickly and went to answer, but Derek lifted his face and responded before he could. “They're all—ah—passed on.”

He was clearly trying to say it concisely, so the least amount of questions would then be asked. It was Stiles' turn to reach for his hand. Silent support. Uncle David looked taken aback and the table was silent for a moment. Everyone was paying attention to the conversation now. Uncle David recovered quickly enough and after the lengthy pause, he replied. “I'm sorry to hear that, son. We're certainly glad that you've joined us, though.”

He offered Derek a sad smile and Derek's lips quirked—he was trying, at least. Stiles squeezed his hand and bumped shoulders with him. Conversation eventually picked up again, slowly at first, but then it returned to normal. Stiles listened to Derek talk about refurbishing his family's old home, then about how he wanted to open up his own mechanic's shop once that was finished. Stiles had never heard him talk about the future like that, so he avoided getting stuck in his own conversations in order to just listen to Derek.

{ _break_ }

Stiles napped on the way home, slumped off to the side with his head against the window. He awoke only when the road that should not have been bumpy, bumped his head off the glass and Derek's hand and worried glance was cast onto him. Stiles was frowning slightly, blinking blearily and looking around. “We're going to the old house?”

His tone was slightly mumbled as he was still sleepy, but Derek just intertwined their fingers and spoke softly. “I just want to look at a couple of things, then we can go home.”

Home—he was beginning to wonder what they were going to do with that once the old Hale house was refurbished. Stiles scratched at his head and sighed, still relaxed from his nap. He supposed they could sell the old house and continue renting the one they were in now, but it didn't make much sense to do something like that. Besides, Derek would never sell his family's house, no matter how much death had happened in it. By the time the car was parked, Stiles was awake and beginning to talk about his family and the dinner—how yummy were those sweet potatoes, really?

“I'm surprised Johnny didn't say anything, you know, but I'm sure it was because you're so menacing. Seriously, the 'tall, dark and brooding' thing is a little weird,” Stiles was picking his way through tools that were strewn around and stacks of wood that were wrapped in tarp. Derek pulled open the door that led to the tunnels and Stiles looked up sharply, halting all movement with a foot still in the air. He set it back down like he was planting himself right where he was and going no further, crossing his arms over his chest. “There is no way I'm going down there.”

Derek rolled his eyes and huffed, looking over his shoulder at Stiles. “Don't be such a baby. I just need to check something and we can go.”

Stiles ground his teeth, but he skulked by and into the entrance to the tunnels. He would not pretend to be happy about this, but Derek calling him a baby? Oh no, that just wasn't cool. Derek followed him down and pushed by him, going about his business of examining some bits of wall, some of the old wooden posts around and portions of the floor. Stiles stood in the light, eyes casting all around to make sure no cold hands were about to touch him. He was tense and ready to flee at a moment's notice, but stood his ground for the time being. So there they were, Derek relaxed and poking around while Stiles was in the doorway of the same room, ready to take off to top-side, when the dragging sound started.

Stiles was the first to perk up, looking around to see what it was. It almost sounded like it was far off, in another room. Derek looked back at him with a frown. “What is that?”

Derek stopped what he was doing and straightened up, listening to the sound. Metal scraping over wood. Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine and he was looking up over his head. There was a clatter of something falling over, thumping the floor above them and the dragging sound continued. Stiles could practically feel his tail fluffing up and his spine arching. A growl came from Derek, low and warning—Stiles looked at him and would have chuckled if he wasn't so fucking scared himself—he looked like he had his hackles raised and his teeth bared. There was another crash, more of a dull _thud_ really, and it went eerily silent. Derek had crossed to stand beside Stiles, gazing up the tunnel where the door to the main floor was. Stiles bumped his arm into Derek's, trying to find a modicum of calm.

For a moment nothing happened. Stiles even managed to open his mouth to say something like 'Okay, time to go now' that likely would have come out as 'Derek, get me the hell out of here _now_ ', his mouth snapped shut when there was a tinkling laughter from behind them. Had Stiles not already been certain that they were in a haunted house, he would have expected to see a little girl when he and Derek whipped around to look—there was nothing but a dark tunnel. Stiles began shaking, eyes wide. Footsteps came like before, running across the cement floor of the tunnels from the direction of the main floor. They ran straight up to the two of them, sent a cold shock through them, and petered out as they continued down the tunnel. Stiles had a hand over his mouth, muffling a rather unmanly scream. Derek just looked baffled.

{ _break_ }

Stiles stayed huddled under the blankets for three hours after that, not even responding to Derek when he tried to explain it off as them both having a long day and hearing things. Stiles knew that Derek was having just as much a problem dealing with this as he was, but he figured that Derek's denial would stave off the panic for the werewolf. Stiles was okay with panicking—panicking and nesting. He emerged only to snatch his laptop and drag it under his blanket fort.

He was making sure that he was completely fortified in his fortress of soft and warm doom while he read. He was doing the same thing that he had done when he had found out that werewolves and WerKatze were real—he was researching. There was a lot of stuff to sift through, perhaps more than for either of the other two topics _combined_. When Derek brought him dinner and offered to put a movie on in the living room, Stiles declined and stayed right where he was, in his safe blanket fort with his laptop for researching ghosts.


	3. Time Makes You Bolder

His blanket fort lasted three days. He camped out under there and scared himself silly (and awake) with ghost stories and a marathon of Ghost Adventures. He knew, of course, that the majority of what he'd read and watched was bogus, but it didn't stop him from ensconcing himself in his Fortress of Somewhat-Solitude. It was after those three days that Derek took his blanket fort down while he was in the shower. To be fair, it was the first day back to school, so the use of his fort would be limited to whatever time he spent at Derek's during the week—it didn't stop him from pouting at Derek for the rest of the morning.

School was a drag, as it always was. Having to pay attention to teachers that didn't make their courses very interesting at all made even the normally hyperactive Stiles about to snore the day away. Maybe it was just being back from the recent vacation that did it, but nothing held his interest, not until Lacrosse practice. While Scott, Jackson and he were running laps (and perhaps laps around the other players while they were at it), Stiles talked about the awkward points of Thanksgiving with his family. Jackson pointed out in a tone that Stiles didn't much care for that at least he didn't have Thanksgiving with the Hale family—could they imagine what sort of insanity would happen with them? Begrudgingly, Stiles had to admit that he was right. Scott chimed in that he had a potentially more awkward Thanksgiving with his Mom (who knew nothing of the wolves and hunters) pitched in with the Argents. Luckily everyone had put away the tension for the feast and he had minimal meaningful looks cast at him from Chris Argent.

They were doing drills when Stiles finally brought up the scary haunted-ness of the old Hale house. Jackson brushed it off with a joke—he had eaten some bad turkey or maybe they had laced his food with catnip and he had hallucinated the whole event. Stiles just cast a look to Scott. Danny gave them odd looks as they kept chatting like they were sitting around having a laugh when everyone else was drenched with sweat and breathing heavily. After that they tried to act like normal teenage boys playing a rough and tumble sport. By the end of practice Stiles had forgotten about the topic completely. It was only when they met the girls by the cars that it was brought up again.

“Are you sure that's what happened?” Lydia was twirling her hair around her finger, chewing on a piece of gum and looking at him with something that looked like concern. Or maybe she was just constipated. He really couldn't tell.

“Yeah, I'm sure. How could I miss all the freaky shit that went down?” He didn't really want to have to remind himself that this was the first they'd heard of it—the first incident with the suspension bondage and the cold hand all up in his personal space had been omitted from his 'findings'. Mostly because he didn't want to even _try_ to explain that one. His gibbering during that event made him seem very unmanly and he couldn't have that. Lydia, meanwhile, rolled her eyes and leaned back against Jackson's Porsche.

“Did Derek see this all happen?” That was Jackson, eyebrows pinching together, but his expression was more curious than anything. Stiles was pretty sure he remembered hearing that Jackson was an adrenaline junky who loved paranormal weirdness in his movies. Danny was ambling toward the group from across the parking lot. Jackson had said something about giving him a ride home; it also meant their conversation was just about over.

“Of course he did. He was standing right next to me, looking just as freaked out, I might add.” Stiles had a sour note in his tone. It was all because they were hesitant to believe him that the place was haunted in a bad way—shouldn't they follow him just as blindly as they followed Derek? Mentally he snorted and shook himself down off of his imagined pedestal. Scott gave him a reproachful look and bumped shoulders with him.

“Well, it's not like we're going back there tonight, so relax.”

Danny was just reaching them now, “Going back where?”

The pack shifted into neutral mode. It wasn't that Danny wasn't welcome, he just wasn't officially part of the pack. Yet. If Stiles had any say, he'd be in regardless of him being a regular human who hadn't found out about the wolves by himself. He was pretty sure Jackson was on his side too, but one could never tell with the jock. He'd be the type to be opposed just because it would keep Danny safe. Jackson clapped his friend on the shoulder and grinned easily. “That place we're fixing up. Stiles is being a girl about it being _haunted_.”

He teased Stiles, throwing a playful look in his direction. Half of Stiles wanted to pounce and initiate a wrestling match, the other wanted to be irrationally angry over the teasing tone. He settled for sulking and letting Scott drag him off so they could go home.

{ _break_ }

Usually, when Stiles was spending the night at his childhood home and not Derek's rent-a-house, he was home alone for quite a while. It didn't bother him—in fact it gave him time to do household chores, check on what kind of snacks his Dad was hiding around the house and do his homework in relative peace. Today his Dad's Cruiser was parked in the driveway, smelling of curly fries and flat soda. Stiles hoisted his book bag over his shoulder and set off up the walk with every intention of straightening out his Dad's eating habits. He would pack him lunches if he had to.

As he kicked off his shoes, he called out, “Dad, don't think I don't know that you're eating lunch at In'N'Out again.”

“And how would you know, it's not as if you're ever here anymore.” His Dad's voice came from the kitchen doorway, startling him and making him look up sharply. He blinked as a frown started to settle on his lips. His Dad was leaning against the door frame, looking weary as he rested a hand on his hip.

“You didn't seem to have a problem with it before.” Stiles was a little hesitant to talk about this—it was awkward, talking with his Dad about Derek. Mostly because Stiles was still scared to death that his Dad was going to decide that Derek was a bad guy after all and shoot him. After all, Derek had been arrested a couple of different times. His Dad shook his head, looking down at the floor between them. He was exhausted. Stiles dropped his bag on the floor and stepped toward him. “Want me to make dinner? You can sit on the couch and watch COPS reruns.”

He was attempting to be sensitive, to give his old man a break. The Sheriff glanced up, measuring his son with his eyes before accepting with a nod. Without another word he departed for the living room. Stiles abandoned his bag by his shoes in favor of making his Dad feel better.

After Stiles had sank into the couch cushions next to his Dad, a plate of salad and cheesy bake ravioli in hand and another placed in front of the Sheriff, quiet reigned. Mostly it was because COPS was up loud enough that the sirens sounded like they could possibly be real and right outside their windows, but it was also because they were busy stuffing their faces. Stiles had finished his ravioli and was picking at the salad when his Dad finally turned the TV down and sat back, pushing his empty plate away from him.

“How is Derek, anyway?” Obviously he was trying not to be pushy or nosy or whatever, but Stiles saw right through him. He wasn't really asking how the alpha werewolf was, he was asking if there was any reason why he should shoot him in the kneecaps. Stiles pushed a tomato off to the side and stabbed at an onion.

“Fine, as usual. We're still working on the old Hale house.” Stiles didn't look up from his plate at all, just pushed things around and speared them at random.

“Going back there tonight?” His Dad didn't want him to go. Stiles shook his head.

“Tomorrow night we are, though.” It seemed to make his Dad relax a little.

“How's that going, anyway?”

“I haven't hit myself with a hammer yet, if that's what you're asking.” Stiles' eyes flicked up to catch his Dad's expression, a teasing smile sneaking up on his face.

“What about other people?” His Dad's face was alive with mischief.

“Only when Scott's not paying attention.” Stiles smirked as his Dad let out a chuckle. They fell quiet for a few minutes and Stiles finished his salad. He stacked his plate with his Dad's and left them on the table, flopping back onto the couch with a huff. It was a short while before the Sheriff said anything. When he did he was speaking like he was picking his words carefully.

“You don't have to, you know, but it would be nice to see you around a little more.”

It hit Stiles then, and he was flabbergasted. His Dad missed him—he was lonely. Stiles had almost forgotten that his Dad might have a hard time letting him go. Without... without his Mom around, the house was empty. Stiles studied his Dad's face, trying to find the words with which to respond. When he did, his voice was thin. “I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't know. I didn't think...”

He just nodded in response to Stiles' answer, still not looking at him. His mouth was set in a grim line. The Sheriff sighed and straightened up, running a hand over his face as he did so. “Well, I'd better get started on the dishes. You probably have homework to do, huh?”

He clapped his hand down on Stiles' knee and forced a strained smile. Stiles did his homework at the kitchen table while his Dad washed the dishes. After they were both finished they curled up on the couch with some popcorn and put some of the older Boston Legal on.

{ _break_ }

The next day Stiles was too busy trying to catch up on reading of lore (Derek had some books on werewolves that he'd been gathering and Stiles was slowly making his way through them) between classes to even _think_ about the fact that they were all going back to that freak show of a house. It wasn't until Stiles looked up from the book he was reading and out of the window of Jackson's Porsche that it all came rushing back to him. A chill raced down his spine and made his shoulders tremble for a moment. He knew that Jackson could hear his heart speed up, but he hoped he didn't comment on it. Stiles was still staring out the window at the house when they pulled to a stop. Jackson clapped his hand on Stiles' thigh and leaned in to nearly growl in his ear.

“You've got to stop doing that.” Jackson's breath was warm by his ear and did well enough to set Stiles at ease, but it didn't mean he was any less freaked out about going back in that house again. Jackson groaned and pushed away from him, opening up the door and calling back over his shoulder as Allison drove up with Scott and Lydia in the car. “Come on, Stiles, let's get this over with.”

Jackson had been working on his control issues, especially when it came to Stiles. They'd still been having a few problems over the months—Stiles would start freaking out over something and Jackson would get a stiffy. At first Jackson hadn't had much control and pawed at him before running as far away as he could, as fast as he could with Derek hot on his heels, but it seemed that Jackson was at least keeping his hands to himself now. Stiles was grateful.

He opened the door and climbed out, letting the lore book fall back onto the passenger seat. He joined the others at Allison's trunk, pulling out his tool belt and strapping it on, grabbing whatever items needed to be brought in. Derek was already inside, working on taking the windows out and sweeping up the broken glass. He had already taken his shirt off and a thin sheen of sweat graced his skin. Stiles put down the boxes of nails he had been carrying in and crossed the floor to wrap his arms around his boyfriend. Stiles didn't mind the sweat as his own shirt started soaking it up, he just leaned in and kissed the corner of Derek's mouth.

“Have you been here long?” Stiles was looking at the progress made, but he was also concerned about his well-being. Staying in a haunted house for very long couldn't be healthy. Derek pulled away to pick up a water bottle and take a long drink before answering.

“A few hours.” Derek could tell that Stiles was worried, “I'm fine, Stiles.”

Scott clanked down a pile of lumber across the floor and Allison was trying not to look at Derek and Stiles. Lydia was pulling a sweatshirt on and sweeping her hair back into a ponytail and Jackson was his usual asshole self. “He's been panicking about this place being haunted.”

Derek tried not to smirk where Stiles could see it, but Stiles knew he was doing it anyway. Stiles glared in Jackson's direction. He was seriously contemplating throwing a hammer at him. Or maybe shooting the nail gun in his direction. Derek swooped in just when he was considering going through with his murderous thoughts and left a lingering kiss on his lips. Immediately he was distracted. “Don't worry about stuff like that. They can't hurt you.”

Stiles was a bit taken aback by the comment, made low and huffed into his ear as a soothing gesture. He sort of wanted to call him on not even knowing that ghosts existed until Thanksgiving, but he decided not to for now. Stiles rolled his shoulders and drifted back to Scott, bumping shoulders with him as they all sorted out where everyone was going. Jackson was going to be working on tearing down the walls that used to be a bedroom with Scott; Lydia was going to be upstairs tearing old, water damaged cabinets out of what used to be the bathroom; Derek was continuing window work and Allison and he were going to be tearing the banisters up and getting rid of them. There was plenty of banging around, but all in all it was monotonous work. Lydia, Allison and he were donning sweatshirts in case the overcast sky decided to let loose the rain while the wolves were more interested in the tearing apart of walls and windows.

All in all, it was productive. After a couple hours of work, Scott was running around and getting everyone's orders for dinner—apparently Derek was giving he and Allison money to go get dinner from the nearest Subway. Scott was just getting Lydia's order when Derek blew up at Jackson. “Where the _hell_ did you put it, then?!”

It was loud enough that everyone had stopped what they were doing and looked over at the two. Stiles' feet were already taking him a couple of steps in their direction. Jackson looked terrified, pale-faced and the usual hard-set to his shoulders was trembling slightly. Lydia's lips were making an 'O', he hand going to cover her mouth and her eyes wide as she took in what was happening. Derek could be goddamned intimidating when he wanted to be. Even Stiles stayed the hell away. Scott was glancing from the confrontation to Stiles and Allison was looking between the confrontation and Scott. Jackson's voice was soft enough that his answer got lost in the empty space between everyone. Derek sure as hell heard it though. “You were the last one who had it, Jackson. Things don't just disappear. _Find it_.”

Although it seemed like Derek's initial anger had worn thin, Stiles still wanted to quell it completely. He quietly approached, even though Derek was just pushing his hand through his hair and hanging his head. Stiles stopped a few feet away and reached out, grasping Derek's shoulder. Sometimes the guy had a shorter fuse than any of them. It was these times that Stiles had to appreciate just how much stress he was under. Derek leaned into the touch and peered at him. Stiles was calm and tried to be easy-going about it. “Hey, you alright?”

Derek nodded, but Stiles knew he wasn't being completely honest. He didn't push—he needed space right now. Especially in front of the pack. He knew that if they were in private, Derek would give him no choice in the matter: they would be cuddling. Stiles offered a smile and released him as he turned away, getting back to work. Jackson ended up finding the tool that Derek had lost his temper over down by the door that led to the tunnels. Stiles felt as if his fur was raising up. He offered to go with Allison instead of Scott to get dinner, and Scott let him go.

They had returned, eaten and gone back to work for a couple more hours (until the sun went down) when it happened. Lydia was back up in that bathroom, this time she was getting rid of the cracked tiles that had once made up the shower walls and floor, everyone else was working downstairs. Derek was going over with everyone how he wanted to tear up the porch next and get that fixed up when Lydia's shrill scream rang out. Stiles jumped a mile high, tail puffed up and claws _shinking_ out. Allison gasped and reached for Scott at the same time that Jackson dropped the lumber he'd been shifting to the side and sprang into action. Scott looked toward the stairs while Derek bellowed Lydia's name, eyes flashing red as if in preparation to shift. Lydia practically flew down the stairs and into Jackson's arms, tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn't stop talking—mostly she was saying 'oh my god' over and over again at break-neck speed.

She calmed down enough in a few moments of hiding her face in Jackson's chest to peek out and into Derek's concerned face. Her voice was raw, wavering slightly what with her emotions running high. “She was _staring_ at me.”

“Who? Who was she?” Derek asked, his voice soft and soothing. Had Stiles not been flipping shit, he might have admired the way that Derek was handling it, but as it was Stiles was edging closer to Derek and trying to not look like he was using him as a shield against the scary ghosties. Stiles only had enough of himself left present to look at Lydia with wide eyes and ask even softer than Derek.

“What did she look like?” By now Stiles' fingers were hooked in Derek's belt loops and Scott and Allison were edging closer to the group. Lydia didn't get the chance to answer, though, as Allison stifled another gasp and everyone's head jerked up to look toward the door that led down to the tunnels.

“ _Get.... out..._ ” The words were growled out—it almost sounded like when the wolves got angry with each other. But it wasn't just the words that chilled Stiles to the bone, it was the hulking form that looked to be a massive shadow. There was the drag of claws over what remained of the wall, deep gouges appearing in a set of five, trailing toward the group of six.

And then, just like that, it disappeared.

{ _break_ }

It probably wasn't the _best_ reaction, but it made Derek feel in control and it made Stiles feel safe. The leather pulled at the skin on his neck, tugging in all the right ways. Stiles pulled against the hold that Derek had on the collar, feeling that small bite—a nip really—on his shoulder as reprimand. It was half an hour after they had all seen the apparition at the old Hale house. They had disbanded immediately and gotten the hell out of there. Derek hadn't even given Stiles a choice, he'd dragged him to the car and driven him straight to his rented house. Not that Stiles was complaining, because he wasn't.

Derek's index finger was hitched through the single D-ring on the collar, holding him in place. Straddling Derek, mouths hot and slick against each other, Stiles was willing to just let go of everything that had happened and let this wash over him. Derek seemed to be keen on making him forget, so it was working out quite well.

Stiles' hand worked them both, pumping up and down their shafts, dragging the pad of his thumb over the slits. His lips were parted, eyes half-lidded with lust, he watched Derek's expression changing as he got closer to the climax. He couldn't help himself, as Derek held his gaze and pulled him in for another kiss—he keened and rocked his hips, sliding their cocks together, the lube and pre-cum making it sticky, but slippery. Derek pulled his mouth away, but only far enough to take a deep breath and dive back in to mouth at Stiles' jawline. The heat of his mouth left a trail of cooling spit on his skin. It pulled a whimper from Stiles, his hand still jerking them off between their bodies.

Derek's free hand reached around to grab a handful of his ass, squeezing before just running his palm over the pale skin there. Stiles moaned, trying to still his rocking hips. Derek's teeth closed on his earlobe, yanking once and releasing it, mouth wandering hotly down his neck. Derek clamped down on a spot near his collarbone and sucked—just the perfect spot to send shivers racing up and down his spine. The werewolf groaned, not able to stop himself from thrusting up into Stiles' hand. Stiles whined in response, ducking his head and their mouths met again. Appreciative sounds were lost between them as they rocked together, bringing each other right to the edge.

Stiles knew when to do it, he was a quick learner, so when Derek's jaw went slack he added an extra twist to his wrist on the upstroke and sent him, trembling, into his climax. The hot cum splashed over his hand, his chest and dripped down onto Derek's chest. The feel of it on his skin and a few more tugs pulled him over too.

For a few moments afterward, Derek just breathed heavily against his skin, still holding him in place as they caught their breath. Derek let him go then and reached for the nearest bit of cloth to wipe up the mess with. Stiles thumped onto his back on the bed beside him, eyes closing as Derek worked on cleaning them both up. As he said before: he didn't think this was the _best_ response, but it made them both feel better afterward.


	4. Your Sins Into Me

That night Stiles didn't sleep well. He tossed and turned and was waking up every hour, on the hour. Mostly he found that the inch and a half wide collar caused some discomfort. Not because it was itchy or anything, but because he couldn't curl up into his favourite positions while wearing it. He eventually settled for draping himself over Derek's chest, ear pressed to his skin. He allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat. There was a matching rumbling in his own chest, which he'd come to realize was him _purring_. He tried not to think about it.

The next time he woke up after falling asleep like that, he was alone in the bed. This didn't often happen, so when it did it he had to take stock of everything before he got moving. He heard Derek puttering around the house. With a stretch and a yawn he threw the blankets off and went to get up. He absently scratched at his stomach and went to rub his eyes with the palms of his hands when the scent hit him. Coppery, almost like pennies—he'd only smelt this one other time. His eyes widened as he tipped his head down to look at his stomach.

There wasn't much blood, he'd just torn open the scabs with his scratching. But still, he hadn't had any marks upon going to bed. There were three scratches running from between his nipples to an inch above his belly button. They were raised, like welts, and were newly scabbed over. He turned to the blankets, sure enough there was blood smeared over the inside of them, dried and looking more brownish than red. He didn't know when or even _if_ he made a sound, but Derek was behind him and frowning, reaching to touch him.

“How did this happen?” Derek asked softly, his eyes studying Stiles' face, “Did I do this to you?”

It was uncharacteristic of Derek to be so _soft_ , to sound so guilty. Stiles shook his head, even though he didn't really know the answer. He didn't _think_ Derek had clawed him at all. Maybe he'd done it to himself? The scratches went straight down in such a way that he found that highly unlikely. Still, he didn't want his boyfriend to think he was causing him pain—whether it was unintentional or not. “No, no. I must have done it in my sleep or something.”

Derek didn't look entirely convinced; he led Stiles into the bathroom and motioned toward the counter. “Sit.”

“Hey, I'm not the dog here.” The joke flopped, mostly because he didn't sound very amused when he said it. He just felt inexplicably _nervous_. He blamed it on The Group Incident (which is precisely what he was calling last night at the old Hale house). He pulled himself up onto the counter and gently swung his legs while Derek searched for a wash cloth, dampened it and began wiping up the dried blood that was smeared across his skin. It made Stiles feel a bit like a little kid, so after a while he took over and pushed Derek towards the bloody sheets.

It was no time at all before Stiles was pulling a shirt on, covering the scratches, and helping Derek put new sheets on. There was still a faint trace of copper in the air, enough to make Derek continuously look over at him with a guilty expression. As Stiles was drinking his morning coffee he caught him for the umpteenth time and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Stop that. It doesn't hurt at all, I'll be fine.”

That seemed to be what Derek needed to hear, because he gave a sort of sheepish expression, ducked his head and took a long drink from his own cup. After that he stood up from his stool and crossed to rinse out his cup, pressing a kiss to Stiles' forehead. “The pack should be here later today, after school.”

{ _break_ }

After school Stiles drove with Lydia in the passenger's side, blabbering on about going shopping together soon. It turned out that when Lydia found out that Stiles was with Derek and no longer sniffing after her, she wanted to spend _loads_ of time with him. While this wasn't a loss for Stiles, he had been very tentative at first: he still really, _really_ liked her (he'd been chasing after her since the third grade for Christ's sake!) but now that he was spending more time with her he was beginning to realize just how good of a friend she could be. She'd also changed a lot since last year's formal—when everything had gone a lot further than just “awry”. Jackson pulled in ahead of Stiles, screeching tires just to get there first in his silver Porsche. Allison and Scott pulled in behind and parked, everyone spilling out of their respective vehicles and headed towards the door.

They piled into the house, shucking off shoes and leaving them by the door. Stiles got leaned on by Lydia as she took her heels off, Allison practically fell on Scott trying to take hers off. Stiles couldn't really understand why girls wanted to wear towers on their feet, but he also wasn't willing to _ask_ about it either. Jackson was the first one to sit down, favouring the comfort of the couch rather than the stools that were pulled up to the island in the kitchen. Stiles let everyone else get settled as he wandered toward the bedroom. He heard the shower going before he'd entered the room, but found the door closed to the bathroom. Opening the door quietly, he slipped in and leaned back against the counter by the sink. It didn't take long for Derek to pop his head out from behind the curtain.

“Stiles.” He didn't appear to be very amused, but Stiles smiled anyway.

“Derek.” He mimicked his boyfriend with a teasing glint in his eyes. Derek retreated back behind the curtain and started rinsing his hair again.

“Everyone's here?” It was more for conversation than a real question. Stiles knew he could hear the rest of the pack out in the main part of the house. He nodded anyway, fingers carding through his growing hair.

“Yeah.”

Derek cleared water and the last remnants of soap from his face before he spoke again. “I'll be right out.”

Stiles knew when he was being dismissed—besides, he had to take care of the others. He walked back out and flopped down on the couch, picked up the remote and turned the TV on. By the time Derek got out there, dressed in a gray long sleeve shirt and a pair of dark jeans, Stiles and Jackson were talking about Criminal Minds, Lydia and Allison were dunking chips into some dip they'd taken from the fridge and Scott was perched on a stool, listening to everything going on around him. Immediately, though, everyone stopped what they were doing and the TV got turned off. Allison was a bit slow on the uptake, crunching a few more chips before putting the bag away, but no one faulted her.

It was a little while before anyone spoke. They all just sort of sat around and looked at each other, hoping someone else would talk first. Finally, Derek spoke. “We're going back to working on the house.”

Immediately protests sprung up from Lydia, Stiles and Scott. Derek just shot Stiles a look that meant 'no arguing' and he fell silent—not happily, mind you—which caused the other two to shut up too. Jackson was looking around at everyone, looking slightly too laid back to be sane. Stiles glared at him out of principle. Allison leaned forward on the marble top to the island in the kitchen where she, Scott and Lydia were gathered around. “I don't know—whatever that was seemed pretty demanding. Do we even know what it can do?”

Stiles made a 'tch' sound that drew everyone's gaze to him, including Derek who was glowering slightly. “It's a damn ghost— _obviously_ —it can do ghosty things.”

Okay, so usually he sounded a little more intelligent. Jackson rolled his eyes and moved to lean forward, but Stiles pushed on before anyone could make any negative comments in his direction. “Like tossing things, scaring the piss out of you, maybe even curse people or possess them for all we know. I don't think it's really safe. We should get, like, ghost exterminators or something to take care of the place.”

Stiles knew, deep down, he was acting like a scared little kid about _ghosts_ , something incorporeal, yet he hadn't been acting as such when he was a human and facing down Alpha frickin' werewolves—he wasn't sure if it was just the fact that it was _ghosts_ he was dealing with, or if becoming part cat had made him lose any and all backbone he might have once had. Lydia twirled her hair around her finger and dug into her pocket for some gum, Scott was giving him a strange look but it was Derek that spoke, leveling a rather gentle look in his direction.

“I want to be sure of what we're dealing with. The best way to draw it out is to go back to working on the house.” While usually the Alpha had last say in what the pack did (Stiles knew this by watching a whole bunch of documentaries), it was clear that Derek was going back whether they were going to come with him or not, but he was hoping that he could count on them for back up. Stiles wasn't quite sure if the rest of them would understand this, they tended to do the opposite of what Derek wanted for the most part. He expelled a lungful of air and looked around at the pack.

“I guess we're going then.”

{ _break_ }

The rest of the pack meeting had to do with Lydia and Allison talking about expanding their shopping horizons (meaningful looks over at Stiles included—perhaps they were trying to include him, but he was in his own conversation), Scott and Jackson talking about Lacrosse and how their defense needed some work before the next big game, and Stiles working alongside Derek to make dinner happen for all of them. Derek didn't say anything about it until later, but when he was saying goodnight at the door he pulled Stiles aside and murmured a simple 'thank you' into his ear. Stiles gave a one armed shrug and a kiss on the cheek before heading to his Jeep and going home.

The next day they dressed for the occasion and strapped on tool belts, driving over to the old Hale house and hesitantly starting to work. Derek made them go in teams of two (Stiles somehow managed to get himself paired up with Jackson) to check out the house and see if there was anything weird or out of place. He was supposed to be happily ignoring the problem and avoiding it with Scott by his side, but for some reason Derek had wanted to talk to Scott and Allison had latched onto Lydia as quickly as possible (probably for more girl talk), so he and Jackson had just sort of ended up wandering the upstairs. Stiles thought that the place looked even more creepy with their work half-done. Maybe it was due to him knowing why they had stopped. He shook himself out of his thoughts when Jackson spoke up, trailing his claws over the remnants of dry wall hanging off the edges of the supports.

“You really think this thing has the juice to possess people?” He was giving Stiles a sidelong glance that was simultaneously worried and reproachful. Like he didn't want to believe it could happen, but part of him did anyway. Stiles was slightly put out that the rest of the pack didn't seem to take him seriously, even if _he_ was the one who always did the research for them and _he_ was just about as high ranking as Derek. Shouldn't they just be accepting of anything he said? He grit his teeth; Jackson probably didn't mean to be disrespectful, he just permanently sounded like a dick.

“I don't know.” Irritation laced his words, “It can move things, it can talk; what else do you need it to do?”

“Just asking.” Jackson grumbled, scratching his cheek with blunt nails and looking down at the rotting floorboards. They meandered through the room and Stiles looked out the window toward the back of the house. He wondered what the backyard had looked like before the fire—with a family living here. He could almost see it: the tire swing new and maybe a trampoline off to the side, a mowed lawn where the children rolled around and got grass stains on their clothes, a well-kept gravel path that led between the trees and back toward the lake that Stiles knew was back there. They probably had barbeques, but maybe they roasted deer and rabbit instead of burgers and hot dogs. He turned back to tell Jackson to move on and finish sweeping the top floor.

Jackson was close—way closer than he was before. A snarl was on his lips and his eyes looked somewhere between irate and vacant. His hand, clawed, reached up and grasped the front of Stiles' print t-shirt, yanking their faces so close that their noses bumped harshly even though Stiles was trying to shrink back. Hot breath puffed on his face as Jackson growled out the words. “I told you to _GET OUT_.”

Stiles wasn't sure what sort of noise he made, but whatever it was he couldn't hear it over the pounding of his own heart. The blood was rushing in his ears and he was trying his best to scramble out of the beta wolf's clutches. Then, like he hadn't just been scaring the shit out of Stiles, he grinned.

Stiles froze, knowing that while he was still somewhat panicky he shouldn't be—Jackson had been pulling his leg. Jackson loosened his hold on his t-shirt as four pairs of footsteps all started up the stairs in a hurry. Stiles was gulping in lungfuls of air when Jackson rocked forward, touching their foreheads together, his voice husky and low. “You're too easy.”

Derek was the first into the room, looking around for whatever had caused Stiles to yell the way he had. Jackson sprung away from Stiles like his life depended on it (it probably did). Scott was second into the room. “Dude, are you okay?”

Stiles took another gulping breath of the chilly air and punched Jackson on the shoulder, his nerves still making him a little shaky. “Yeah, he was just being an asshole.”

Derek grumbled, looking between the two, and then ordered them all back to work with a 'don't fool around.' They all wandered back down to the main level and stood around for a bit before Derek doled out jobs for everyone. There didn't seem to be any sign of ghostly inhabitants, though Stiles was still keyed up from Jackson's prank and wasn't quite sure he wanted to continue working on the house. After a while, though, the quiet of the house made him relax. That was his undoing.

{ _break_ }

It was like he was there, but he wasn't. He could see what he was doing, but he wasn't in control; a passenger, not the helmsman. He turned on his heel, the movement abrupt, the hammer he had in his hand falling to the floor with a _clunk_. Allison looked up and frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Stiles?”

He could feel his face drop any expression he might have had while working on the house, a vacant look drifting over him. His feet took him toward the door to the tunnels, not even acknowledging Allison. She dropped her own hammer and stood up, trotting over to him with a worried expression. He kept walking at a sedate pace. “Stiles? What are you doing?”

He couldn't make himself say anything, not even look at her. She seemed to realize where he was heading and twisted her fingers into the sleeve of the sweatshirt he was wearing. She looked back over her shoulder, presumably to look for the others. “Guys? Guys!”

Footsteps sounded behind him as his hand reached for the knob. More followed as he twisted it, the metal not feeling cold, like he would have expected, but painfully hot—he would have sworn and jerked away if he had any control over himself, but it just kept searing his hand—and he pushed open the door.

“What is he doing?” Lydia's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Derek crossed the floor to approach him even as he started down the stairs into the tunnels.

“Stiles,” His voice was hard, demanding. Something Stiles would have answered whether he wanted to or not. He kept walking down the stairs, his face blank. “Stiles, where are you going?”

It had bite to it, probably because Derek hated being ignored. Stiles wanted to flail, scream, cry over the pain in his hand but he couldn't. It was like he was in a trance or something. He knew, distantly, that _this_ must be possession, but he couldn't bring himself to be scared. The fact that he couldn't control himself was scary—he didn't want anyone to worry about him—but the fact that he had some ghostly mojo in him? It seemed like a vague notion, far away and not bothersome in the least. He kept on down the tunnel. He heard the others piling down the stairs after him, hissing questions under their breath and trying not to intrude. Derek kept pressing, though. Allison had dropped back to join the others, Stiles could almost tell that she was squeezing the life out of Scott's hand. Derek had reached for him, but let his hand fall away before touching him a couple of times—was he afraid of this? He shouldn't be afraid.

His feet brought him down the tunnels to the room with a drain in the floor and windows up above their heads to the evening air. Derek sucked in a breath and stayed back by the doorway like there was something preventing him from going any further. Stiles realized then that this was the room they had died in—his family had burned to death in here. He got five feet from the window and he sunk down—no, he collapsed in a heap—like a puppet who's strings had been cut. He immediately tried to move, thinking that maybe the ghost wasn't there anymore. He was wrong.

A wail of utter agony rose from his throat and tore through the still air in the basement. It sounded unearthly, the pain in that sound. He couldn't see any of the pack—they must have been at the door still. When the cry ended warm arms wrapped around his torso—Derek, he could tell by the smell—but it wasn't anything he could respond to.

Except then he did, but it wasn't any kind of response that should have happened. His claws raked the side of Derek's face, ripping it open and splattering droplets of blood. It wasn't a pansy scratch either, it was deep and gouging. Derek ended up on his ass, sprawled on the floor between Stiles and the doorway where the pack was huddled. Jackson was being held back by Scott as Derek wiped the blood off his face and stared at Stiles in bewilderment. Stiles felt the angry expression on his face, his fangs pushing at his lips and his eyes flipping over to the slitted ones that usually only happened in the dark.

“ _How dare you disturb our slumber._ ” His voice was sharp as a knife and hissed out, not sounding at all like himself. Just like that it felt like all of the energy had drained from him. He felt cold and tingly and like a weight had been lifted off of him. He didn't realize he'd pitched forward until his face met the cement of the floor with a _crack_. He groaned as everything went dark.


	5. Who Are You?

Mervin tended to not come out this way all that often. By 'out this way' he meant America, of course. He was only out here because a friend of a friend needed some help or a second pair of eyes or something. Who better to call than him, really? He'd never met the guy he was supposed to be meeting, but his friend told him that he was good enough to warrant his visit all the way from Cardiff. He shifted in the cab's seat, his face showing that there was no love lost for the American ways of things. Cabs had been better across the pond the entire time—plus you could fit more people into one back home. This one fit him and his bags (yes, _bags_ —plural—after 119 years on this planet you tended to acquire a large amount of stuff, to be fair though, most of it was trades materials).

It was the town of Beacon Hills that this cab was taking him to—a place that might as well have been called West Bumfuck because he had no idea where he was except that he was _still in California_. He slouched down in the backseat of the cab, hazel eyes flitting from the view of the windshield to the view out of the windows of the back doors. They drove along like that for long enough for Mervin to nod off. When he awoke it wasn't to the cab reaching his destination, it was to an ache in his gut and a pull toward the side of the road that seemed to be all forest.

In all his time he'd experienced this only a few times—one of which being when his brother was involved in the accident that killed him. It wasn't all that unusual for someone like him to have such reactions to hauntings—it was actually quite common. What wasn't all that common was someone willing to drop whatever it was they were doing and deal with it for free. Mervin happened to be like that, but only since his brother passed on. To him it just didn't seem like an option to just leave it and let someone else deal with it. He sat up in his seat and cleared his throat, directing the driver toward the source of the pain in his stomach. The driver didn't seem all that displeased by the change in direction, but then he wouldn't as he well expected to be paid.

When they reached the husk of a house that looked like it might be in the process of getting cleaned up again, the cab driver pulled to a stop and Mervin paid him well. He hauled his bags out and dumped them near the edge of what used to be a porch, but now just seemed to be a rotting death-trap. He watched the tail end of the taxi bump off down the place again, though Mervin was sure the driver was looking back at him and thinking he was nuts. He turned his hazel eyes back to the cars that were parked in a curve around the side of the house. His anti-social nature made him cringe away from dealing with it. The ache in his gut made him power through his misgivings, though.

He left his bags where they were, smoothed his platinum blonde hair down on his head, not appreciating the slight breeze that fluffed it up in the opposite direction. He hated it when he had any in his face. His hands were pushed into his pants pockets as he hopped up the stairs that creaked under his admittedly light weight. He pushed open the red, paint peeling door from it's position of almost-latched. They were probably wannabe ghost hunters or some stupid teenagers—either way they had stirred something up recently that they had no clue how to handle. Mervin released a breath and tried to roll some of the tension out of his shoulders. He took a few steps into the 'house' and stopped as the door past the stairs flew open and the kids piled out.

Mervin knew they hadn't quite seen him yet—but when they did they had all piled through the door already. The adult of the group (had they called him because they were scared, or was he just weird?) was carrying the body of a recently possessed boy bridal style. Mervin just settled his eyes on the boy and glanced about, pulling his hand from his pocket to point to an old couch that had yet to be gotten rid of. It was green and missing it's cushions, but it was better than the floor.

“Put him there, he'll wake up in a bit.” The answer was one he figured he'd get, but was unwelcome anyway. The adult took on a threatened air and basically growled as he ground out his words.

“Who the hell are you? Get off my property.” Ah, so he'd been there the whole time then. Brilliant. A panicked adult was just what he wanted to deal with. The rest of the kids were wary of him, admittedly, but they seemed to be looking toward the adult for what they should do. It was a little off—not like a regular gang of teens looking up to the older, more mature neighborhood guy. Mervin couldn't put his finger on it, though. His accent was thick as he spoke again.

“Look, do you want help or not? Because the way I see it you're up to your tits in bad mojo and I'm the only one here who knows anything about stopping it.”

{ _break_ }

Stiles woke up to the rumbling sound of Derek's growl and an unfamiliar voice talking about tits and mojo. He was quite befuddled, so it could have been his imagination running a commentary about how haunted this house was. Groggily he moved to sit up, his whole body aching. The pack was standing in a ring around him, facing toward the door. His head hurt the worst, and how was it that they had gotten up here anyway? The last thing he remembered was unceremoniously face-planting on the cement floor of the basement.

“ _Nnnnniirrrggghh._ ” Okay, so he wasn't quite capable of speech yet. Everyone had heard him, but only Allison moved to sit beside him and put a supportive arm behind his back. He leaned into her gratefully and blinked as the world came into focus. There was definitely someone new here. His voice was coarse and lower than normal when he finally tried speaking again. “What's going on?”

Allison shifted to peek around the side of Scott presumably to get a good view of what was going on. When she turned back to Stiles, she spoke under her breath. He had to lean in close to hear her. “Some guy is here.”

Some guy? Some guy. Stiles went to lean to get a good look, but he ended up crashing back to the sofa, the view consisted of all legs. The 'Some Guy' was wearing jeans—stylish, but clearly comfortable too. Stiles tried to cant his head in order to see up, but the best he got was a view of Derek's ass (which wasn't so bad in itself). His head was still pounding and trying to follow the conversation seemed like it was out of the question. Until, for some reason, the stylish jeans advanced on the group and Derek actually moved out of the way.

Hazel eyes peered into his brown ones and Stiles jerked backward, only to be met with a hand cupping the back of his head. Derek was the one who spoke, standing off to the side, but watching what was happening like a hawk. “It's okay, Stiles. Just let him.”

Still uncertain of what exactly this guy was doing here and why he was studying Stiles like a particularly interesting piece of art, Stiles reluctantly did as he was told. He wasn't really prepared for the barrage of questions that the man started in on.

“Did it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?”

“Don't answer questions with questions—did the _possession_ hurt you?”

Stiles shook his head, but found that sent the world spinning more violently than it had before. Even though he wasn't sure how this guy knew about what had happened, he swallowed thickly and answered. “It didn't when it happened. It hurts now, though.”

“How does it hurt?”

It was hard enough trying to concentrate when people were talking, but this was already starting to get irritating. “My head hurts. Dizzy, hard to concentrate.”

'Some Guy' nodded and frowned as he felt around on Stiles' head. It would have felt like a really nice massage except for the fact that Stiles wasn't sure if he should really be trusting this guy. He glanced over at Derek when the next question came.

“Do you know who it was?”

He had more than an inkling, based on what had happened. His voice came out a little strangled. “Yes.”

The stranger frowned again and prompted him to sit up on his own. “Who was it?”

Derek stepped in. “That doesn't matter. Is he alright?”

The man, who Stiles thought must have either a hefty pair of balls or was just lacking in brains, straightened up and stepped right up to be in Derek's face. “I think I'll be the one to determine what information is necessary, thank you.”

Then he waited a second until Derek had swallowed back his pride and took a step back, lowering his gaze (and since when did Derek step down from anyone?), and then spoke again. “He'll be fine.”

And suddenly there was a duffle bag where Stiles was sure there hadn't been before. The guy turned back to him as Stiles was trying to figure out in his head if the bag was haunted or if anyone else had noticed it just appearing there or not. “Now. Who was it?”

Stiles jerked his head back to look up at the man who was crossing over to the bag and bending down to open it up. Stiles frowned and glanced at Derek again (who wasn't meeting his eyes) and answered much more quietly than he usually would have. “Derek's family.”

He swallowed back the rest of the answer and stared at the duffle bag that the man was rifling through. The man looked up at him and Stiles felt compelled to meet his eyes, even if his Alpha wouldn't. The man gave a thin smile and rose to his feet, crossing the distance. His voice was soft, enticing in a way that Stiles hadn't encountered since his Mom, when he was little. “Who was it?”

Stiles practically choked on the words coming out of his mouth, his mind fully on how this would effect Derek. He couldn't have his Alpha seem weak in front of a newcomer. He absolutely couldn't. “The Hale family.”

The man came down to his level, their faces only about six inches apart. Stiles felt trapped in a way he hadn't felt since Peter Hale had him in the parking garage. The man's voice was the same soft, almost plaintive tone. “Who was it, Stiles?”

He just broke, like he hadn't been resisting that hard to begin with even though he had. The words rushed out and his eyes closed hard after them. “Derek's Mom.”

He didn't see the satisfied smile rising to the man's lips, nor Derek's head jerking up, eyes landing on Stiles as he sat, defeated on the couch. He only opened his eyes after the man had backed off again and Allison took to rubbing his back in a consoling way. Everyone seemed to not be looking anywhere near Derek, who's hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

The rest of the pack stood around stupidly until Derek moved over to the man and spoke in a low voice with him. It was then, when Stiles really wanted to overhear the conversation, that the pack gathered around and was poking and prodding him to make sure he was okay. He wanted to bat them away like the annoying gnats they were pretending to be, but the look in Allison's eyes and the cage that they were making around him made him just give in. They didn't talk much, but just consoled him with touches, the way that they had always seemed to do whenever anyone needed it. In the back of his head Stiles knew it to be a wolf sort of thing, but the cat part of him wasn't objecting, so maybe it was just more of a friend thing.

Whatever Derek and the stranger had spoken about, they seemed to be in agreement. Derek came back to the pack and spoke in the same low voice to them as he'd been using with the man across the room. “We all need to go back down there.”

His voice was rough with some emotion, but he wasn't letting anyone see past the armored exterior he wore as an Alpha. Stiles maybe knew better than most that he was doing this for the pack's benefit. He was hurting inside. Scott was the only one to offer any resistance to the idea, and even that was short lived.

“Are you—” Scott didn't get much further than that when Derek looked over at him.

“Yes. Now get down there.” He was, perhaps, a bit harder about it than he needed to be but it sure got the pack moving. Stiles didn't even attempt to get up, he just looked between the strange man who was pulling a lot of weird items out of his bag and Derek, who seemed to be waiting for everyone to do as he said. Allison had lingered for a moment, but as soon as Scott looked back to see if she was coming, she was on her feet and leaving Stiles with Derek.

Derek refused to meet his eyes. Stiles decided that pushing probably wasn't the best answer, so he went for a subject he was still unclear on. “So who is this guy?”

He ran his hand over his buzzed hair and worried at his lower lip. He was gazing at the man, but he still felt Derek's eyes on him. Derek's voice was even more rough when he spoke. “His name is Mervin.”

Stiles chanced a look at his boyfriend and showed the concern written on his face. Then he smiled, somehow finding a miniscule amount of humour in the situation. “Mervin?”

He shifted, bringing himself closer to the edge of the couch and beginning to try to stand up on his own. Derek took his hand and helped him up, steadying him with hands on his shoulders. Derek didn't seem to get what was so funny about the name. Stiles dropped it and the smile. “And what's happening?”

This made Derek's jaw muscles tighten for a moment, making Stiles pause and wonder if maybe he shouldn't be speaking at all. He didn't seem to be doing a good job of being sensitive. Derek answered before he could think of how to take it back.

“He's going to get rid of them.” Derek's eyes flicked toward the stairs that led down toward the basement and tunnels. Stiles' stomach flipped as he momentarily thought he was talking about the pack.

Derek's hands disappeared and Stiles realized he was staring at the door with severe trepidation. He turned his head to meet Derek's eyes. Obviously not the pack. Obviously the ghosts. Obviously.

“Are you sure?”

Derek seemed about to speak, but _Mervin_ walked over, a jar of something in his hands. “He's sure.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, not sure he fully trusted this guy. After all, he'd only interrogated Stiles and made Derek look foolish in front of the pack. Stiles glanced back at Derek who was once again not meeting his eyes. Okay, enough was fucking _enough_. He turned back to _Mervin_ and spoke firmly. “How about you not interrupt a private conversation, okay buddy?”

This seemed to get Derek's attention, but Mervin just shrugged and wandered away again. Derek was frowning at him. Stiles took a ragged breath and turned back to his boyfriend. “Why are you doing this, if you aren't sure?”

Derek seemed to be frustrated for a moment and turned a glare on him; Stiles thought about backing down, but Derek's gaze softened and he spoke even more quietly than before. Stiles only just heard his answer.

“He knows more about this stuff than you do. He's in the position to do something about it.”

Stiles wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort him or not. Besides, that wasn't even an answer. He spoke in the same low tone. “That isn't really an answer, dude.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably and Jackson was peaking up from the doorway, presumably to see what was taking them so long. “Just—trust me, okay?”

Stiles studied him for a moment before relenting. This wasn't easy for Derek, anyone could see that, but this wasn't the time to be questioning him. He attempted a few steps on his own before Derek had his arm around his waist and helped him along. The pack seemed relieved that they were finally on their way; Stiles didn't blame them.

{ _break_ }

The swirling wasn't just in his head, he was sure of that. On his knees in the middle of a circle drawn on the floor, Mervin's hand hovering over his head. All he really wanted was to stop the place from spinning—maybe have Derek wrapped around him too. He simultaneously felt like he had been stripped raw and yet he felt so distant, so far away from everything that was happening. Mervin didn't look happy as he spoke what he had explained to be a Catholic Exorcism in Latin.

“Dómine sancte,” Mervin's accent wasn't one Stiles was familiar with, but it sounded funny with the Latin. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, as he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He gasped for air and tried to curl in around himself but something kept him from doing so. He was locked in place, not even able to look anywhere but at Mervin—the _bastard_ —but he felt how uneasy the rest of the pack was at what was happening.

The sun had begun setting a while ago, but none of the peachy-orange light was reaching down into the basement, even with the door open at the top of the stairs. The only light came from some bare light bulbs strung along the walls, the way they had been since way back when Derek was held captive here by Kate Argent. Stiles wasn't sure if that knowledge made it even more eerie or if it was the fact that he felt like _he_ was being tortured now, but it certainly didn't help him feel any better. He just couldn't get his breath back, his muscles rigid against whatever was holding him in place.

“Da, Dómine,” Another sucker punch, expelling all of the air he had in his lungs. His jaw was locked, but not due to whatever was holding the rest of him still—it just hurt too damn much to even try to speak. Why had he been okay with this again? This was not _fucking okay_. His claws _shinked_ out, his jaw finally unlocking at Mervin went on and on in Latin. A gut-wrenching scream: low and more cat-like than human, poured from his mouth. He was vaguely aware, through the pain, of the fact that his world had gone greyscale and his teeth were a lot longer and sharper.

The yells continued to rip from him, his throat going raw and rough quickly. The pain just wasn't stopping, the swirling around was getting more intense. Darkness started seeping in to the edges of his vision, the lights lining the walls winking out one by one until he felt his eyes roll up into his head. His body stayed right where it was, but his muscles lost some of their tenseness, only going taut every so often, when a new wave of pain broke over his body.

{ _break_ }

That Stiles kid was one of the most brave people Mervin had ever met. He knew full well when going into it that he would likely feel the repercussions of the exorcism. He'd still gone right on ahead, which pretty much guaranteed that no more spirits would be lingering in, on or around this old, falling down house. As soon as the exorcism had ended, Derek Hale had rushed to him and wasn't letting anyone else near him for a while. Mervin wasn't an idiot, he knew that supernatural creatures existed, he just wasn't sure what these people were—he didn't recognize what that boy Stiles had half turned into during the exorcism. It had looked vaguely like the werewolves he'd heard about, but he couldn't be sure, having never met one before. He didn't think too hard on it, he just packed up his stuff and let them deal with Stiles. The kid would be alright.

Once again they were on the main floor of the house (Mervin might have been somewhat afraid of falling through the floor, but he was ready with a levitation spell on the tip of his tongue). Stiles was deposited on the same couch as before, but he was going to be out for a while, Mervin was sure of it. Derek then approached him as the rest of the kids took care of Stiles. Mervin straightened up from tucking his book away and extended a hand toward Derek. The man didn't seem to want to take it, but he did out of politeness.

“What do you want?” Derek's gruff tone had Mervin snort and shake his head.

“Why do you think I want anything?” Mervin caught the evaluating look Derek was giving him and he went on. “Look, you needed help, I gave you help. Now I'll be on my way. I have a friend to meet up with here.”

Derek didn't seem to want to just let it go like that, but Mervin wasn't going to let him keep going on like that. He put his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows at the man. “How about this, then. You owe me one and I'll call you up when I have something in mind.”

Derek seemed to accept this, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. “Alright.”

Mervin pulled out his phone (and how awesome were these gadgets, really?) and took down Derek Hale's number. It was surprising how many contacts he had in his phone, considering his anti-social nature. He didn't linger much longer, just gathered his stuff and waited outside with it until the cab he called had picked him up.

{ _break_ }

When Stiles finally started blinking awake, he was in the back of the Camaro, listening to the engine purr and Derek singing along softly to a Katy Perry song. He shifted, but his muscles felt like he'd run four miles and wasn't actually a WerKatze. He groaned softly and pulled at the leather jacket that was draped over him. It smelled strongly of Derek and put him at ease. He fell back asleep until the Camaro was parked and the ignition was turned off. Groggily he saw Derek lean back and brush his knuckles over his forehead. It was the kind of tender touch that Derek only gave when no one else was around. Stiles relaxed again and shut his eyes.

When he finally woke up it was the middle of the night, Derek was curled around him in their bed at Derek's rent-a-house. Stiles rolled over and tangled his legs with his boyfriend's, reaching up to thread his fingers in Derek's thick, dark hair. Stiles was pushing what happened as far out of his mind as possible, choosing to let his questions go unspoken for once and just cuddle up to the Alpha werewolf.

{ _break_ }

The pack, minus Derek because he didn't go to Beacon Hills High School, pretty much escorted him everywhere the next day. Stiles was exhausted, and reasonably so seeing as he had been possessed twice during one evening. He went through school in a haze and got driven home by Jackson with him and Lydia fawning over him, making sure he was comfortable until his Dad would get home. He was thankful, but at the same time he just wanted to sleep. So he did, until the Cruiser pulling into the driveway woke him up.

He was at the door in seconds, looking fully alert and holding it open for his Dad, whom he _knew_ was going to be pissed about him not showing up last night. He'd have to come up with something good to be forgiven. His Dad hardly looked at him the whole time he was sorting through a stack of files in his hands. It looked like a work from home night—Stiles would have to start getting dinner ready. He ended up not having to explain anything to his Dad, who immersed himself in work even through a plate of Chicken Parmesan being placed in front of him.

A week later and Derek hadn't dragged them out to work on the house yet. Stiles was popping grapes into his mouth and reading his Trigonometry notes to make sure he knew what he was doing when he was reminded of it. He looked up from his book to watch Derek flipping through a mechanic's magazine. It wasn't that unusual, but it was a new one, so Stiles was curious. He didn't let it deter him from his mission, though. “So what are we doing about the house?”

Derek looked up sharply, snapping the magazine shut and flicking it onto the table effortlessly. Stiles wished he was that cool. He always managed to look like he was trying way too hard whenever he attempted something like that. “I got a call from one of the companies I tried to hire before. They're going to start in this Monday.”

Derek had long since learned to just tell Stiles everything at once and that way he wouldn't have to keep answering his questions. He got up from the couch and crossed the tiled floor with bare feet, leaning on the counter next to Stiles and gestured to his textbook. “You done yet? I'm getting hungry.”

Stiles glanced at the clock and snorted. “You're always hungry.” Then he jotted down something on his paper, “Just two more questions.”

Derek lingered for a moment, and then skirted around the counter, diving into the fridge. Stiles looked up with a frown. “Hey, no spoiling dinner.”

The fridge closed again and Stiles turned back to his homework. Derek was leaning across the counter now, appearing to be reading his textbook upside down. Stiles raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Derek met his eyes for a moment, then went back to sitting on the couch. Stiles finished the math homework and shut his textbook, paper tucked inside with his answers on it. He shoved it back into his bag and got up from the stool. “So are we meeting everyone there?”

Derek nodded, having gone back to flipping through his magazine. Stiles dropped his bag by the door and sunk down on the cushion beside him. He reached over and tapped the page, distracting Derek from reading. “So what's this then?”

Derek shrugged. “I got a job.”

This threw Stiles for a loop. He sputtered. “You got a _job_? When? Where?”

Derek was trying to change the shit-eating grin he was currently wearing into a menacing grimace, but it wasn't working too well. Stiles' eyes narrowed slightly, “Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?”

Derek's grin had abated somewhat when he answered. “Because I only got the call today, while you were in school. It's that car place down near the police station.”

Stiles frowned a little. “This police station, or my Dad's?”

Derek leaned in and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “My Dad's, isn't it? Are you _trying_ to give him a heart attack or something? He _still_ doesn't think you're totally innocent.”

His boyfriend just smirked and leaned in to give him a deep, rather filthy (but oh so wonderful) kiss and nibble his jaw. “Come on, we all know I'm not innocent.”


End file.
